Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 43

Reflections Following a Mom Meltdown

Photo by Total due, via Flickr

I had a meltdown on Saturday night.

It was one of Those Weeks. Four baseball games and one practice on top of the ordinary two nights of lessons (Christian’s), one night of choir practice. Piano. Dance. School choir. Oh, and Christian had to stay late at work twice. Oh, and Julianna’s school spring festival. And I woke up at 2 a.m. on Friday and went, “Oh, (redacted), I have a column due today, and I haven’t even started it.”

I tried a couple of times to catch up on the dishes & laundry, but abortive attempts to clean end up making you feel worse, not better. I had to tell my kids five, six, and seven times to do the same thing, finally resorting to shouting because they were completely ignoring me. And Michael kept bringing Tonka trucks and Duplos upstairs, and disassembling Nicholas’ light saber, and they were fighting over the new Matchbox car mat, and complaining every time I told them to do a chore instead of watching TV.

I just wanted to scrapbook for the first time in three weeks. Was it so much to ask to scrapbook for one hour in peace?

Apparently so: the boys were eating candy in the living room, stepping (and kneeling) on my scrapbook materials, bickering about who was going to be a Decepticon and who an Autobot, and throwing couch cushions. And the dishes were still not done, and although Christian had given baths (thank God!), when I got upstairs I found dirty clothes all over the floor…

Well, you get the idea.

There are times when it just seems hard. Like you keep having to give and give and give, way past the time when it is reasonable to do so. You know going in there are going to be tough times, but you’d think once you’ve been in the hospital with kids a few times, the piddly stuff wouldn’t get to you. Except it all dumps on top of you at the same time, with unreasonable tag-alongs like, yanno, hubby having to stay late at work to make it all feel even worse.

Nicholas was begging me for a walking in the woods story, and I’m telling you, reaching inside and pulling out a piece of myself in the form of a made-up story was already an unattractive proposition even before I got upstairs and found the pigsty of dirty clothes on the floor.

After the ensuing maternal meltdown I was leaning against the chest of drawers in the big boys’ room and thinking, Please God, help me to be bigger than myself. Awkward and ungracefully-phrased it may be, but in the madness of life this is my go-to prayer, because I am constantly having to give when I think I have a right to receive, to forgive when I think I have a right to hold grudges, and to show love and affection when all I want is to send somebody to their room until their next birthday. (In case you’re wondering, the next kid birthday in our house is at the end of November.)

Why is it that all of the effort has to come from me? Not only the effort to give the instructions, but the effort to teach how and to enforce and supervise the carrying out. Take the initiative to bridge the cracks in relationships that were CAUSED BY SOMEONE ELSE, DAMMIT. Why is it MY responsibility to bridge the gap?

I think I’ve quoted this line from Grand Canyon before. It goes something like: “All the good and bad things in life are so close together. I see it in you and me, even, in our marriage.” I can be laughing at a kid funny one moment and ready to tear my hair out the next. I love them with a fierceness that eclipses anything I’ve felt before, and yet most of the time I just want them to leave me alone for a while, for the love of all that is holy!

It just feels friggin’ hard right now. I don’t want to be “bigger than myself.” I want somebody to think about me for a change, instead of me serving everybody else’s needs, real or perceived.

These are the days that bring home with such excruciating clarity how parenthood does indeed model the love of God—the gift of self, the self-emptying, the continual bearing of a cross that carries both suffering and glory in one package. And I don’t feel one whit better to say so. I always want blogging to be a nice, neat package tied up in a “There, all better now” bow, but the reality is that I’m on this roller coaster for the long haul, just like a whole bunch of you who read these words. So I just put these messy, scattered-ended posts out there so we all know we’re not doing it alone.

Which Bone Is The Extra Chromosome In?

“Which bone is the extra chromosome in?”

This is the question I was called upon to answer last night. It was 7:43p.m., and my day had been a nonstop madhouse, beginning with an 8:30 a.m. flute rehearsal and culminating in a mad rush from 4:30-8p.m. to get Julianna to and from dance, everyone fed, dishes done, floor swept, haircuts given, forgotten recycle-art project built, and baths taken. (Christian had to take Alex to baseball.) I was shot by the time Nicholas opened his mouth after bath.

Hopefully, he’ll forgive me for laughing at the question.

Christian and I made a conscious decision to start talking about Down syndrome as soon as we could do it without crying. Alex, of course, got the bulk of the intensity, because he was around when it was all fresh and Down syndrome was the only thing on our minds.

Now that Down syndrome has faded into the tapestry of normal life, the topic is more “in the air” than a formal conversation. Sometimes I wonder if Julianna’s younger brothers are really getting the message. On the other hand, it’s a comfortable enough topic in the house that Nicholas feels no inhibitions about asking “which bone is the extra chromosome in?”

We’re pretty active in the local DS community. I am the primary Facebook page person, the primary person who talks to med students (Christian joins me whenever he can, and there are two other women, but I do most of them), the primary point of contact for hospital social workers and Early Childhood sped teachers, and the point person for our bimonthly social hours. My fellow co-coordinators have their own points where they take lead, but these are mine. We’ve been in the newspaper (here, too) and on TV.

I used to worry that Julianna would feel a stigma attached to all this background noise about DS. I know that come adolescence, it could still happen. But at least for now, Julianna is eminently, beautifully comfortable in her own skin and in the superstar status accorded by her extra chromosome. What disability? She’s got a fan club and a retinue of adults at school. She thinks she’s a starlet.

To some extent I think Julianna’s comfort is simply a gift of her nature. But I also think, in part, that it’s because we’ve made sure everything we say about Down syndrome remains emotionally neutral. The word “retarded” does not get used in our house, even in relation to Julianna, to whom it actually applies (and incidentally…..)

We don’t even talk about her “disability.” We simply say everybody has 46 chromosomes and Julianna has an extra one, and because of that it’s harder for her to learn things. Period.

Kids are wonderfully malleable. When you treat something as normal, they view it that way. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, when you don’t get all twisted up in your own emotional hangups about people who are “different,” kids are able to accept it as something factual, without a negative connotation.

In any case, it’s only the adults who are uncomfortable with these conversations, and if we as adults can just get over our own biases, the next generation won’t pick them up in the first place.

Speaking of biases…just to make sure you don’t miss the point…

Boy Moments

Unlike his mother, Michael does not suffer from insomnia.

Item 1: Michael

Michael and I went to the park. He ran right for the 7-foot chunky tire sunk in the ground, where he was greeted by another little boy shooting spider webs at him, including appropriate sound effects. (Think “p-chew! p-chew!”)

Recognizing a kindred spirit, Michael’s eyes lit up. He held up his hands and started Iron-Man blasting his new friend, also with sound effects. (“Fwoh! Fwoh!”)

 

Item 2: Alex

Alex, in the car, says, “You know, this isn’t a criticism, but the Disney people really don’t know much about Star Wars.”

“Oh?” says I. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, in that Star Wars ride at Disney world, (classmate) said sometimes it’s Darth Vader who stops you, and sometimes it’s Darth Maul.”

“Yeah…” I’m not getting the problem.

“But you’re always starting at a rebel base,” he says patiently. “So it can only be Darth Vader. See?”

Point taken, Alex. Point taken.

Don’t ask me. I’m just the photographer.

 

Item 3: Nicholas

Nicholas carpooled home from baseball last night with a friend of the family. When she brought him to the door, she said, “We brought the snacks tonight, and Nicholas told us, ‘These aren’t very healthy. You need to do better next time. MY Mom says SHE is going to bring HEALTHY snacks when it’s her turn.”

Face palm. And proof that you just never know what your kids are going to latch onto in what you say and turn it into a REALLY EMBARRASSING MOMENT.

Kids Sports: It’s (supposed to be) about Respect

Today I’m handing the soapbox over to my husband, who is coaching Little League this year for the first time. As parents, we find the attitude toward kids’ sports disturbing–too focused on winning and creating star players, too little focus on teamwork, character and physical fitness, and not enough playing time for the mid-pack and low-end players.

So Christian decided to make right priorities the centerpiece of his coaching. I want to share the notes he went over with parents via email before the first practice, and with the boys at the first practice.

Christian Basi speaks on Little League team expectations:

The theme for our summer will be RESPECT:

By our last game, I hope to have instilled in the boys the following ideals/skills:

RESPECT for the game: Every boy will learn the proper skills and fundamentals of the game (including hitting, throwing and catching).

RESPECT for your team (and teammates): Every boy will know what it means to be a good teammate, supporting everyone on the team.

RESPECT for your competitor: I want the boys to recognize good competition and cheer for good baseball. (For example, St. Louis Cardinals fans will often applaud the opposing team when they make a good play. This has always stood out in my mind as the ideal competition – someone who plays hard, but recognizes and respects good competition.)

RESPECT for yourself: I hope to educate the boys on being proud of their hard work while also knowing how to respond to criticism appropriately.

We certainly won’t win every game, but I expect us to have the classiest coaches, players and parents in every game we play. As a parent, if you haven’t done so already, I would encourage you to go online and read “The Matheny Manifesto” – written by St. Louis Cardinals manager Mike Matheny when he was asked to coach a little league team. You can find it here: http://mikematheny.com/sites/default/files/docs/MathenyManifesto.pdf

I’m working hard to develop good practice drills as we prepare for our first game.

Go Pirates!

EXPECTATIONS FOR PIRATES

SUMMER 2015

Acceptance of players of all abilities

We have a team with players of all abilities. Some of us (the coaches included) are better hitters while others can catch better. Some are going to have “natural” talent, while others have to work harder to learn certain skills. I expect all of us to help each other in whatever way possible. No player or coach will disrespect one another by talking behind their back, calling names or embarrassing them publicly. As a member of our team, if you see a player (or a coach) that needs a little help with a skill, please offer help in a kind way.

Never laugh at someone’s inability to do something, because in the next moment, you might be overwhelmed by their ability to achieve a particular goal.
Sometimes individuals with the least amount of talent work harder than the rest of the group combined – we can all learn something from that type of work ethic.
Everyone deserves to be included and there is a role for everyone. Support those who want to be there.

Effort/Behavior/Attitude

I expect the boys to give me their absolute best effort at every practice and every game. If they are sick and not feeling well, but feel well enough to be at practice, I will still expect them to be mentally sharp even if they cannot take part in every drill. Otherwise, they should stay at home until they are better.

Hustle

We will hustle to our warmup spots; we will hustle to our positions with a fast jog. Players who are not ready to make this commitment could face a minor penalty.

Punctual

I expect every player to arrive on time. Late arrivals are disrespectful to your coaches and your teammates who are ready to go. We will only have approximately one hour to practice on our field. Please be there ready to go at the appointed time.

Responsibility

Each boy is responsible for their glove, hat, any bat they wish to bring and additional gear. This includes water and any snacks. No boy will be allowed to leave the dugout during a game except for the following reasons:

Bathroom visit
Injury
Family emergencies.

I do not want to have the boys talking with parents/grandparents and getting snacks during the games. This leads to a lack of focus and a perception that they are not supporting their teammates. I expect the boys to learn the responsibilities of remembering what they need for a game before it starts.

Parental support

To make this work, I need the support of all the parents. I hope to earn your respect as the season goes forward, but in the beginning, I’m asking for your support. This includes:

Umpires – no boy will be allowed to criticize an umpire, either through words or actions. If they do, they will be removed for one inning. It the actions continue, the consequences will be more severe. I have been a certified umpire in 3 states and umpired little league, high school and college-aged (and older) baseball games. For several summers, I also served as the organizer of the umpires. I can assure you there will be bad and missed calls. I expect our team and our fans to be supportive of the umpires. If any criticism is handed to the umpires, I will be the one doing it. Trust me – this is going to take a load off your shoulders. Please note: there is a significant penalty for the head coach and the entire team if a parent harasses an umpire.

Cheering – please support your boys through appropriate cheers. Many experts have said that the quieter you are about your son, the less pressure they feel. (Again, see The Matheny Manifesto for more information) I will be the first to admit that this has been very difficult for me to learn, so we’re all in this together.  I want the boys to enjoy the summer, and this means not demonstrating that we think they will be the ones to be a major league draft pick 10 years from now.

I hope you understand my goals and expectations for the team. I’m looking forward to coaching the boys this spring. Please let me know if you have any concerns.

A Decade of Parenthood In Pictures

This child was in no hurry to make his appearance in the world. I should have known then I had a kindred spirit on my hands. But I wrote Alex’s birth story last year, so this year I’m going to share pictures instead as a happy birthday to my boy.

Click to view slideshow.

The Courage Not To Hide His Smile

He hides his smiles.

Or at least, he tries.

He can’t say for sure why he does it. But at some deep level in my soul I think I understand, because he is so much like me. He’s self-conscious, and he’s trying to be humble. Always, one or both of those things comes into play.

I remember being a kid who craved encouragement. I longed to be reassured that I was good enough, that I was worth spending time and energy on. And so I try to let him know that even though he’s “the good kid” in the house, the one we know we can count on and don’t really have to worry about, that still I notice him, still I treasure moments and expressions and the gifts that make him unique.

Sometimes I tease him. He always swallows his smiles then.

Praise makes it happen, too. Last night his piano teacher told him she’s never assigned a student this young to learn his black-key scales. He looked at the floor and squirmed, and hid his smile. He did it again when we got back to the car and I called him on it.

When I interviewed author Lisa Popcak a couple of weeks ago, she talked about how the later years of parenthood are a great adventure, because you and your child get to discover together who they are and who they are called to be. I see that manifesting most clearly in Alex, here on the cusp of ten. He’s an old soul, quietly driven to seek, to learn, to ponder, to grow. But the juxtaposition of that old soul upon a child whose current craze is Lego Star Wars and Star Wars origami just makes me smile. He’s all about figuring out how to fold index cards into new shapes (“Awe-SOME!” he shouted from the back seat on the way to Iowa. “I just made a TIE FIGHTER!”), and he still plays ULD (Ultimate Light Saber Duels) with the unselfconsciousness of early childhood.

He’s an introvert, naturally cautious about baring his soul. But once he’s in familiar, or shall I say trusted, company, he’s got the same capacity for giddy craziness that my sisters and I, at least at the best of times, shared around the supper table, shouting and laughing until I cried. I always point to playing the lead in the play my junior year of high school for changing my life. That was when I learned to shout in public. Before that, peer interactions were painful. In many ways they remained painful afterward, too (wait…did I put that in the past tense?), but that was a watershed moment.

Every child is sensitive in some way, but because Alex’s sensitivities are so familiar to me, they evoke a tenderness in me that the other kids’ don’t. I would like to help him crack through that shell a little earlier than I did. I would like to help him achieve that final virtue he identified on his shield: self-confidence. To help him see the beautiful soul I see, and not be afraid to show it to others.

To help him have the courage not to hide his smiles.

On Any Given Sunday….

Log cabin beside the river, a historical marker for the origin of the city of Des Moines

On any given Sunday, you might be sitting in the front row at Mass, trying to look like a respectable family who actually has any business giving a presentation on faithful parenting later that afternoon, when your three-year-old flings himself to the floor and wails. And when asked what’s wrong, his response might be: “I’m sad because you told me to pay attention to Father!”

On any given Sunday, you and your husband might lead an afternoon devotional event as a guest artist while weighing the relative disruption that would be caused by a) leaving the music area to make your kids behave, versus b) just letting them run around the church.

On any given Sunday, you might invite the kids in the assembly to come up and lead hand motions for a song, only to have your fourth grader flail backward on the pew with an audible, and public, “Uggggghhhhhh!” (Note: you might also find that Preschooler’s hand motions default to “air guitar” as soon as your back is turned.)

(The rest of the kids didn’t want to come up the second time.)

On any given Sunday, you might be leading “Go In Peace” from the cantor stand for a small but enthusiastic group of worshipers, when you suddenly spy your three-year-old, the one you thought had gone to cuddle with Father, instead hanging over the edge of the church balcony. To which the only response is to step out of the hottest part of the mic and whisper, “Get down. DOWN. DOWN!” while pointing vehemently at the floor.

On any given Sunday, you might pack up after the liturgies and the presentations and find, right where the only well-behaved child was sitting, this :

Evidence of sneaky bad behavior. They don’t outgrow it, they just get smarter.

On any given Sunday, you might be taking a farewell picture with a good friend… …while pretending that this was not going on in the background:

“Ev-yyy-fing is awesome!” Because somebody didn’t know how to turn off the sound system!

On any given Sunday, you might find yourself driving east on N. West street, only to turn right and drive south on N. East Street.

On any given Sunday, you might find that Google sends you down a gravel road as the fastest route from Des Moines to mid-Missouri. Or you might find that Google can’t find you at all. Or that your signal vanishes altogether, such that you find yourself navigating by…gasp…a map. Ever heard of one of those?

All poking fun aside, we had a lovely weekend doing our first marriage-and-family-life presentations in the diocese of Des Moines, Iowa. The kids were wild about the Iowa Science Center, and we walked along the river and the triple-A Cubs stadium. The Hyatt where the diocese put us up was amazing. I wasn’t even in the room yet when the kids’ reaction told me we were going to be living in style for two days.

I’m always overwhelmed by how beautiful Iowa is. I know it, but it steals my breath anyway. In the two years I was driving back and forth from northern Iowa to Central Missouri, I was always torn between the soul-filling beauty and the homesickness. These days, when home comes with me, I find myself longing to pack up and put down roots in some place of long, rolling hills and black-walled drainage streams cutting through the green, of fields and woods and grasslands that stretch for miles in every direction, unbroken by city lights.

We come to the end of the weekend worn out and worn down, with a van so cluttered by the detritus of a road trip that we lost my folder of flute-and-piano Easter pieces between playing them at Mass and playing them at the afternoon stations of the empty tomb. But also grateful for the reminder of where we’ve been and where we are now. God is good.

Introducing Michael the Conductor

It is the beginning of a hectic weekend, so I leave you today with a quick video. See you on Monday!

Raising Boys: The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

I am the second of four girls who grew up in a house with one bathroom and one TV. When I was pregnant for the first time, people kept asking if I thought it was a boy or a girl. I kept saying “girl,” but about three weeks before Alex was born, I realized I didn’t think it was a girl, I just wanted it to be a girl, because Girl was all I knew. And I realized I’d better get my head on straight.

That turned out to be a good call, given this:

When people talk to expectant mothers about raising boys, they seem to focus in on spraying while diapers are being changed. Which, although true, is really not a full picture of boyhood. So I thought today I would share a few of the things that come to mind when I think of raising boys. Some of these things make me laugh. Some make me want to cry. Some make me want to pull my hair out. And others do all three depending on my a) mood, b) hormone levels, and c) how much time has passed.

I hope you enjoy.

1. A piece of string and four garden stakes = two hours of entertainment. At least, when you have friends over.

Why yes, I believe they are trying to build a slingshot for the toy airplane.

Jumping off things. Couches. Rocks. Stairs. Chairs. Play equipment. Hay bales.

They have three volumes: off, loud, and deafening.

They are incredibly destructive, and completely without malice in that ability. They break Ev.Er.Y.Thing. Even things you don’t think particularly can be broken, like door stops and light switch plates. Christian made the mistake of leaving his Dremel on the kitchen counter while they were sanding a pinewood derby car, and Michael found it and sanded a hole in the countertop.

ULD. As in, “Ultimate Light Saber Duel.”

If you tell them to wash their hands they will act as if you are asking them to pull their own fingernails out.

If you tell them to put their clothes in the laundry because it’s dirty, they’ll say, “What dirt?”

One of my favorite scrapbook pages.

If you tell them to wash that dirt off their faces, they will look in the mirror and say, “What dirt?”

What dirt?

In the car, they play things like “The Spaceship Game,” which involves a captain, copilot and gunner. But they all shoot semi tractor trailers.

They are completely incapable of keeping clothes nice. And by “nice,” I mean: not ripped in the knees. I am remiss. I failed to take a photo of the pile of ripped uniform pants I finally threw away two weeks ago. And I do mean a pile.

But all that aside, there’s a fresh sweetness to boys–at least, to boys who are raised to be empathetic and kind–that is a joy all its own.

Before I had boys, I really only wanted girls. Now, I have a pack of boys and one completely atypical girl. I sometimes wish I could have had the experience of raising a typical girl, but mostly, I’ve realized I was always meant to be a mother of boys. And hey. I get to raise the boys your girls turn to puddles over, because they’re so sweet and thoughtful and all that masculinity was meant to be.

And that’s quite a privilege.

What I’ve Learned About Weight Loss, Fitness, and “Dieting”

Screen shot of my weight tracking page on Lose It. It was more fun to look at during weight loss, but there’s a lot to be said for two years of maintenance.

Excuses are just that. Excuses. For years, while Christian pushed himself to run harder, faster, longer, I insisted I couldn’t lose weight. Weight problems run in my family. I have PCO, so my weight is a function of my condition. I don’t have time to exercise. I’m not capable of exercise because my knees hurt. I got really angry with Christian when he tried to point out that I was making excuses. (Love tells the truth, even when the loved one takes offense. That’s a blog post all its own. Another time.)
What it takes to lose weight and/or maintain it may involve different regimens for different people, but they all have one thing in common: when you decide it’s a priority, you just do it. If you approach it half-@$$, of course it’s not going to work. So of course, that means…
Weight loss and maintenance requires self-discipline. Not just self-control, as in stopping yourself from eating too much or the wrong things, but self-discipline. Meaning you actually have to drag your butt out of bed and go run or Jazzercise or weight lift, or whatever your chosen exercise is. You have to plan for it, make time for it, make it a priority. You have to stick to the plan. My plan involves calorie counting through loseit.com. If I get lazy about counting calories, the scales shows it. In other words…
It’s a permanent lifestyle change, not a “diet.” “Dieting” doesn’t work, because it’s not sustainable. Whatever you do, you have to keep doing it for good.
Counting calories is much-maligned, but if you do it smart, it’s a very healthy way to handle weight. You have to think about what the calories are, not just how many. Bread racks up a lot of calories. Plain old meat does not, amazingly enough. Even fat (i.e. butter) doesn’t add up as fast as I thought it would. If you pay attention to the balance of foods you eat–and they’re real foods, not “low-cal” fake food–calorie counting works and supports overall health.
You never, ever burn as many calories as “They” want you to believe. Everybody knows I wear a Polar watch and chest band when I exercise and so people are forever asking me how many calories I burn, and they never believe me when I tell them. They think my monitor isn’t working. But I know it is. I know it is because I keep track of calories burned and calories consumed, and I weigh every day. If I was using more than my heart monitor tells me, I would be losing weight instead of holding steady.
To illustrate: My in-laws’ treadmill wants to give me 3x the calories my Polar tells me I burn. LoseIt.com does the same. Jazzercise likes to advertise 600 calories in an hour. I’ve been doing this now for almost 2 1/2 years without pause, and I set a daily goal to burn a minimum of 300 in an hour of Jazzercise. 350 is a good day. And I work pretty darned hard to get those numbers. I’m watching the heart rate on my watch all the time. Despite that, I’ve had to cut calories from my LoseIt.com budget in order to maintain my weight. Which just goes to show…
Every person is unique, and you have to play around to figure out what works. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of losing weight.

I am more fit than I have ever been in my entire life. I weigh less than I did when I got married. I weigh perhaps three pounds more than I did when I graduated high school. And I’m 40. I would rather plant my butt in a chair and write (or read) with every spare minute I have–and with four kids I use the word “spare” with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. But I have decided that health and self-image is a priority for me, and so I have made exercise and weight control a priority too. After all, it’s easier now than it will be ten years from now.

Not everyone is going to get back to their high school graduation weight. Thyroid issues, medical conditions, etc., definitely come into play, not to mention metabolic changes. And yet. It is all too easy for medical conditions and age to become excuses not to try. I know, because I made the excuses, too. But now that I’ve done the work I’m feeling healthier, more energetic, more clear-headed, and more in tune with both body and soul. It’s worth the effort.